Friday, Oct. 6
The only thing that Quinn could remember was that he had been running for his life. Somewhere the Horseman had been behind him, laughing at him and swinging his almighty sword. Quinn knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up.
He woke drenched in sweat and immediately jumped out of bed. The urgency in his dream was still with him and he fought down the urge to run. Where would he run to?
He paced through his apartment and then got in the shower. As the water poured over him, he attempted to sort through what he felt but it was impossible. He kept hearing noises outside his door and despite telling himself it was nothing, he could not bring himself to believe it.
He’s here. The Horseman is here. And he’s waiting for you.
He felt the bile in his throat rise up and Quinn closed his eyes and leaned into the water stream. The Horseman is not out there. The Horseman is not real. He is not even a myth or a legend. He is a fictional creation of Washington Irving. That is all he ever was or is.
No, a voice in his head said. He’s real and he’s waiting for you.
Quinn looked down at his hands, which were shaking. He clenched his eyes closed as he washed his hair, willing himself not to see the nightmares in his head.
Wasn’t there the sound of someone pacing outside his door? Was that the sound of the door opening? He was sure he could hear it.
But when he opened his eyes and pushed aside the shower curtain, there was nothing.
There is nothing here, Quinn told himself. But why didn’t he believe it?
He sat down on the porcelain edge of the tub and let the water continue to hit him. What is wrong with me? How long am I going to feel the effects of this childish nightmare?
He had to think of something else, but found it hard to do. Every time his mind latched on to something, he could hear the hoof beats again in his ears. He could feel the blade approaching his neck, the branches tearing through his flesh.
“Enough,” he cried, and said it out loud for good measure.
It was then that he thought of her, and from the moment he did, the sound of the chasing horse seemed to recede. Kate. He thought of how she looked the first time he saw her. He remembered the sound of her voice. The memories calmed him, and for the first time since he woke up, the feelings of his dream receded.
He should call her, ask her out. But as soon as that thought appeared in his head, the ridiculousness of it came right after. He didn’t know her number or where she lived. And how dumb would he look asking her out after knowing her for exactly two days?
He stood up and finished soaping himself. As he did, he processed the past two days. He had barely seen Kate on Thursday, since Laurence had her out tracking a story in the far northern part of the county.
Quinn knew he had been single too long. He stepped out of the bathtub and dried himself. Maybe that was all it meant. That she was the first potential girlfriend he had met in a long time. He could just be lonely.
All he knew was that she seemed like the only good, tangible thing in his life. And he didn’t even know if she was aware of his existence. Did it matter? Sometimes the hope for something was better than the real thing. It was something to focus on, something to distract you.
He sighed as he threw on clothes. Nightmares and dreams. Those were the only things that felt real.
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (Free edition, with exclusive excerpt from A Soul to Steal) Page 13